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This is the Big Picture.
We are pedaling, in "small" segments, America's Mother Road, Route 66.
On a previous ride in September 2012 (which you can read about in previous blog postings) we rode from Ash Fork, Arizona, to to Needles (Pirate Cove), California.
Last March 2013 we rode from California's Pacific Coast in Santa Monica (Los Angeles) through the Concrete Jungle of Los Angeles Country all the way to Barstow, on the edge of San Bernardino County and the legendary Mohave Desert.
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On this adventure we continue our trek east from Barstow (green dot near center top of map) through a very old and desolate and remote and harsh desert segment of Route 66.
Challenges of this stretch of highway involve long segments of little or no services, meaning few or no places to resupply fluids or foods, or find lodging.
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My pre-trip adventure to get myself to Barstow starts at 0200 (2:00 AM) Friday morning, March 7.
I drive my old VW Beetle two hours through the dark early wintry morning of Ontario, Canada, to the city of London (Not England), Ontario.
From London I ride the Robert Q Shuttle Bus to the Windsor/Detroit Border.
After a careful inspect by USA Homeland Security, I arrive at the Wayne County Detroit Airport.
After a two hour wait for boarding my plane, we fly west over Lake Michigan, which you can see is mostly frozen.
The gentleman in the seat beside me says that the Great Lakes are 90% ice covered this year, "and this is the most complete freezing of the Lakes since such records have been recorded."
(*Ominous Apocalyptic Feeling like you get when watching the Hunger Games or Divergent with imagined eerie background music*)
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My flight takes me to Las Vegas, where I fail to win a million dollars, but do manage to transfer to my one hour flight to California's Ontario (Not Canada) International Airport (Riverside, California).
Brother Marks awaits me as I enter the baggage claim area.
Always a pleasure to see Bro Mark.
We collect my two large bags of bike equipment and some civilian clothes to wear after the trip (brought on the assumption that I would live to tell about it).
Our first priority involves stopping at Taco Bell for deliacacies (a rather heavenly treat for this Canadian) of Nachos and Soutwest Brewed Ice Tea. (The simple pleasures of life are usually the best, eh?)
Then we heard up Interstate 15 and over the Cajon Pass (which we rode our bikes over almost to the day one year ago) through Victorville and on to our starting point of Barstow.
We check into our economy motel (What else, eh?) and sort out and organize what we will take on the bike ride and what must remain locked in Mark's truck until our ride is completed.
At about 8:30 pm (2030 hrs) we have it sorted out.
See Mark in photo feeling pretty good about his equipment selection and organization.
But it isn't time for lights out and bed time any time soon.
(Despite the fact that I only had two hours sleep the night before.)
Before we rest, we must deliver Bro Mark's truck to Needles, on the Colorado River, a yet two hours drive away, so we will have a way to get home someday.
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I have one too.
In my humble opinion, these amazingly simple but efficient apparatus contributed greatly to the enjoyment of our ride.
Actually, without it I would have probably sat down in the middle of the Desert and cried like a baby and just died.
You'll get (several) views of these trailers in action.
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My bike, with famous trailer beside it for comfort, parked in the motel bathroom resting for the big ride.
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With a few minutes to spare before jumping in the truck and cruising Interstate 40 for the night run to Needles, Bro Mark, wearing his official and authoritative "Boss Hog" uniform of the notorious Wild Havalena Biking Gang, starts shuffling through his paperwork mumbling something a map or something we might need.
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Arriving in Needles about 10 PM (2200 hrs) California time, we discover several surprises. The first surprise (but not really a shocker) is that the AmTrak train we are (hopefully) riding to get back to Barstow this night (or morning or whatever time it is supposed to be) is late. Two and a half hours late to be exact. But we are not upset. No, we are merciful towards the Great Iron Horse. After all, it has been galloping all the way from Chicago, and two hours behind schedule at this point in Its journey is not really that bad, eh? But this does mean that I will have to stay up yet another 2.5 hours. My body is already starting to do strange things like spasm uncontrollably making my eyes bounce in my sockets. Golly gee, I haven't had this much fun since the days I used to drive my big rig across the country all night. The second surprise is more pleasant, actually exciting. Understand that in just the three short years Bro Mark and I have been respectful guests along this historic Route 66, we have watched it decay, fast. Any Route 66 attraction or building you see on the internet today, might actually not exist anymore. That's how fast the tangibles along this highway are fading into Ghost Towns or piles of rubble, literally. So when we saw this major renovation of El Garces, with so much of Route 66 roadside structure disappearing and disintegrating, we smiled. It is a joy to see this slice of true Americana history being renewed. Such wise investment, in my opinion, is just the needed action, to keep Route 66 alive and attractive to those who know it, and for those who have yet to discover it. |
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The fence will soon come down and El Garces will tell the story of Route 66. After sentimental picture taking, Bro Mark notices I am rapidly fading. After all, I've only been up about 30 hours straight by this point. Bro Mark quickly whips up a plan. He finds the El Centro Motel just around the corner from the train station, on the curb of Route 66. Once a rather nice place. Now just an ok place. At any rate, Bro Mark negotiates a great deal with the motel manager: We can leave our car here until Friday, and (this is the part I really like) we can crash and nap in a motel room until I train rolls into town in about 2 hours. Two hours may not seem like much to some people. But if you've been up as long as I have, it is worth its weigh in gold. So we sleep. |
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Amtrak rolls into the Needles station about 2:45 AM Friday. |
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| We board our train. (I think the photo is blurry because my eyes are tired :-) About 2.5 hours later we arrive back in Barstow just as the sun ascends the horizon. On our 2 mile (3.2 km) hike from the train station to our motel we discover an all American breakfast at an All American Institution know as "Denny's." With a happy tummy of eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, french toast, and a passable hot cup of Lipton's tea, I sleepily make my way to the motel. Everything blurs for a bit here. Next thing I know is I am waking up around 3 pm on Saturday and feeling much much better. After our showers, we are getting bored. We need some action. Something exciting, challenging, life-expanding -- so we go to the movies. Tough choices. Lego Movie? Sherman and Mr Peabody? Bro Mark chooses Mr Peabody. No comment. It's a free country. After the exciting movie (It really was a decent show), we return to motel for a good night's rest, realizing it might be our last for a few days. |
Be it noted, and recorded in stone for all time, we actually got up at a decent hour. Little did we know at this point how crucial a good start for this day would be.
Of all the "food" McDonald's offers, I must confess I find their breakfast selection the most "appealing." (Understand that such an evaluation is only a relative statement in reference to other fast so-called food.)
The high carb eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, and pancakes go down easy and release powerful caloric energy into my well trained and highly conditioned body (Or something like that).
The high carb eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, and pancakes go down easy and release powerful caloric energy into my well trained and highly conditioned body (Or something like that).
We return to our motel room. Do final packing of toothbrushes. Apply butt butter. Return our plastic card key.
And off we pedal.
We are already on the Far East side of Barstow, so as we follow Main St east, which is in fact the original Route 66, it only takes us a few minutes to leave the city behind.
Not necessary an inspiring start, but yet an omen of what Route 66 has and is becoming; boarded up failed businesses, very old low rent "housing" with fenced in yards containing two or more large dogs giving us notice of their sentry duty.
I suspect these dogs are standard components of the typical home security system valued in these parts.
I suspect these dogs are standard components of the typical home security system valued in these parts.
Allow me to express, however, my thanks to the thoughtful residents and citizens of San Bernardino County who respectfully and responsibly keep their "pets" either fenced in or tied up.
Not a single dog gave chase on this entire trip. And that is good, because with the trailers we are pulling, I don't think we would be able to accelerate fast enough to avoid at least partial consumption.
While there are many old and abandoned businesses along Route 66 (And you will see just about everyone of them in the photos of this trip), a few appear in the lore and literature of the Mother Road as iconic.
Such is the veneration of Mugwumps as pictured above.
I'm not sure what the far past history of Mugwumps might have been. But "recently" (or so the internet says) it was a souvenir shop specializing in customized mugs and t-shirts.
Apparently the business was going well until some local druggies broke into the place and smashed the equipment one night.
The druggies seemed to lack some intelligence (Shock!) in that they did not consider the cause and effect of their actions.
The owner, we find out, is a retired US Marine, and he made sure old fashion justice ruled.
The hooligans all enjoyed the hospitality of the correctional system as a result of their indiscretion.
We pedal through Dagget.
Didn't take long. We actually extended our trip by about 100% by stopping to take this photo.
Dagget should have changed their name to Dropped Shoe. Because that's what they did.
Way back when many years ago the all powerful Sante Fe Railroad chose Dagget as their hugely major rail transfer site. This would very much have put Dagget on the map for kind of like forever.
But apparently a few greedy and short-sided investors tried to make a fast buck off the "almost certain" announcement of the transfer yard. They started artificially escalating local land prices.
The railroad was not impressed. They said, "We're not going to play that game." And they decided to move the transfer site location just a bit back down the road to a little place called "Waterman."
Waterman boomed because of the lucrative presence of the railroad. Waterman changed its name to honour one of the Sante Fe vice-presidents. So Waterman became Barstow. And the rest is history.
This Mohave Desert ranks right up at the top with the Bad Boy Deserts like the Sahara.
So green colours and soft beauty surprises me.
A couple of weeks ago this area received massive rainfall. No standing water here now.
But the water left its gift of life. Throughout this otherwise desolate Lunar-like landscape flowers spring to life.
In your garden, you wouldn't look at them twice. Here in the desert, you behold a miracle.
As the plaque says, the "Forks of the Road" here identified a time and place where Ancient and Modern Cultures crossed.
Standing and looking at this sign I ponder, "And all this old sounding history wasn't really all that long ago in the bigger scheme of things."
I doubt if we were out of sight or earshot of a Train for more than 30 minutes during this entire trip.
The Iron Horse is always present on this stretch of Route 66.
The Train was here before the Road.
The Native Trails before the Train.
Then the Wagon Trains.
This has been a very popular travel route for a long long time.
Lunch time at Subway Oasis in Newberry Springs.
A really awesome and good looking guy standing beside a really cool bike.
Notice the partially cut off street sign, "National Trails Highway."
Before Route 66 was designated, a prior attempt at a coast to coast highway was the National Trails Road, or later, Highway.
A good portion of this 1912 Ocean to Ocean, New York to California highway was incorporated into Route 66.
We are riding on it for most of this trek.
The National Trails Highway largely follows the old Santa Fe Trail which was pioneered in 1821.
From 1821 to 1880 it served as a major trade route.
During the Mexican-American War it was utilized by US Troops for the invasion of what would become parts of New Mexico and Arizona.
The Comanche Tribe demanded the White Man pay a tribute for crossing their land.
White Man said "No" and shot Comanche.
In fact, the thinning out of Comanche Braves by this means sadly opened these lands for "settlement."
Some chapters of history need to be painfully remembered.
Typical Scenery: Road, Telephone Poles, Train Tracks.
Not much left of old Newberry Springs. A few houses and this large immovable monument.
(Cool Bike Trailer, eh?)
I believe the "buildings" in the background where a brave attempt at a roadside "rest and eat here" project.
A fundamental problem is that there is no compelling reason (except for Route 66 History Freaks) for an automobile full of thirsty and hungry travelers to travel between Newberry Springs and Ludlow.
Interstate 40 provides a smoother way (as we will soon painfully discover).
Yet another out of business motel on Route 66.
See the small silver trailer to the right in the photo?
That was actually used in the filming of the cult movie "Bagdad Cafe."
Speaking of the Bagdad Cafe, here it is. Sort of. The Cafe is actually near Newberry Springs.
But the movie was shot here. After the movie shooting, the owners changed the name of the place to "Bagdad Cafe."
You can still eat there today.
I told you so.
There's that guy again, always standing around with his bike.
Meet Christian.
His grandma owns the Bagdad Cafe.
He says the movie is "ok."
Yet another you know what.
Notice the vintage pumps.
I'm surprised some of these buildings are not more vandalized than they already are.
Perhaps several US Marines are retired around here.
Brother Mark dotting the landscape.
Didn't take long for evidence of the rainy season to vanish.
No. You haven't seen this photo before. Remember, they all look alike.
But no. Look closer. See how the road surface changes colour.
Colour change equals texture change.
Radical change.
Soon to bust my butt and rattle my teeth for the next 20 miles (32 km) change.
This is the worst stretch of Route 66 we have yet to encounter.
Large cracks and deeps ruts. Yuck.
Radically deteriorating highway.
(After coming home, I read on the Internet that this stretch of Route 66 road is called "The Car Eater."
It is now also know to some as the Bike Devourer.)
A simple abandoned "cottage" in the Desert.
All that's left of a motel.
The motel once sat here.
I get the impression these folks wanted to be left alone.
Flowers growing out of the Ancient Lava Flow.
A Tourist.
The last volcanic eruption around here was 10,000 years ago.
See that small flat mesa? That's Pisgah Crater.
Not as in a Moon Crater.
But as in the solid remains of the once liquid core of an active volcano hardened and then got covered with dirt and then many many years later all the other stuff has washed away.
Local Art.
A very portable potty.
(A reminder that plastic never dies and it will take over the planet someday.)
Delicate beauty in a hard, harsh environment.
A slightly closer view.
You could drive your car right up to this "crater."
But we were not about to use the rough dirt road with our skinny road bike tires.
Old Route 66 gets a new bridge so it can leap over Interstate 40 near Ludlow.
We have "smooth pavement envy" as we gaze upon this highway.
I get off my bike and kiss the relatively new pavement here.
(It reminds me of those old tennis courts we used to play on in high school.)
I can't decide which I dislike the most -- rough pavement or strong headwinds or skimpy tennis shorts.
The blurb of civilization in the distance is our day's destination -- Ludlow.
A rather typical sight in the Mohave Desert -- Lots of nothing interspersed with bushes.
According to the literature some the colonies of these bushes, named Creosote Bushes, are over 11,500 years old.
No joke. Amazing how a plant could live so long with so little in such an environment.
Desert Tortoises live here. They are an endangered species now.
Unfortunately, I probably helped endanger them.
On several different road trips across this desert when I was a kid going to and from Texas (to visit and annoy my relatives), my Dad actually stopped the car (several times) and I "rescued" a number of these Tortoises (Torti?) from the unpleasant end game of road kill.
As an act of mercy, they were put in a bucket by my feet on the floor board in the back seat.
When we got home to Anaheim, California, I would turn them loose in the backyard.
They adapted quickly to the lush and glamorous Southern California lifestyle.
We rarely saw them except them they came out of hiding at pool parties to each hamburger and watermelon with us.
Unfortunately several of them met their Maker after crawling into the gas fired water heater for our pool ("Cement Pond"), only to become BBQ treats.
We would find their empty shells in the heating unit occasionally.
Road runners also live among these bushes.
We saw one during our ride.
Not a single dog gave chase on this entire trip. And that is good, because with the trailers we are pulling, I don't think we would be able to accelerate fast enough to avoid at least partial consumption.
While there are many old and abandoned businesses along Route 66 (And you will see just about everyone of them in the photos of this trip), a few appear in the lore and literature of the Mother Road as iconic.
Such is the veneration of Mugwumps as pictured above.
I'm not sure what the far past history of Mugwumps might have been. But "recently" (or so the internet says) it was a souvenir shop specializing in customized mugs and t-shirts.
Apparently the business was going well until some local druggies broke into the place and smashed the equipment one night.
The druggies seemed to lack some intelligence (Shock!) in that they did not consider the cause and effect of their actions.
The owner, we find out, is a retired US Marine, and he made sure old fashion justice ruled.
The hooligans all enjoyed the hospitality of the correctional system as a result of their indiscretion.
We pedal through Dagget.
Didn't take long. We actually extended our trip by about 100% by stopping to take this photo.
Dagget should have changed their name to Dropped Shoe. Because that's what they did.
Way back when many years ago the all powerful Sante Fe Railroad chose Dagget as their hugely major rail transfer site. This would very much have put Dagget on the map for kind of like forever.
But apparently a few greedy and short-sided investors tried to make a fast buck off the "almost certain" announcement of the transfer yard. They started artificially escalating local land prices.
The railroad was not impressed. They said, "We're not going to play that game." And they decided to move the transfer site location just a bit back down the road to a little place called "Waterman."
Waterman boomed because of the lucrative presence of the railroad. Waterman changed its name to honour one of the Sante Fe vice-presidents. So Waterman became Barstow. And the rest is history.
This Mohave Desert ranks right up at the top with the Bad Boy Deserts like the Sahara.
So green colours and soft beauty surprises me.
A couple of weeks ago this area received massive rainfall. No standing water here now.
But the water left its gift of life. Throughout this otherwise desolate Lunar-like landscape flowers spring to life.
In your garden, you wouldn't look at them twice. Here in the desert, you behold a miracle.
As the plaque says, the "Forks of the Road" here identified a time and place where Ancient and Modern Cultures crossed.
Standing and looking at this sign I ponder, "And all this old sounding history wasn't really all that long ago in the bigger scheme of things."
I doubt if we were out of sight or earshot of a Train for more than 30 minutes during this entire trip.
The Iron Horse is always present on this stretch of Route 66.
The Train was here before the Road.
The Native Trails before the Train.
Then the Wagon Trains.
This has been a very popular travel route for a long long time.
Lunch time at Subway Oasis in Newberry Springs.
A really awesome and good looking guy standing beside a really cool bike.
Notice the partially cut off street sign, "National Trails Highway."
Before Route 66 was designated, a prior attempt at a coast to coast highway was the National Trails Road, or later, Highway.
A good portion of this 1912 Ocean to Ocean, New York to California highway was incorporated into Route 66.
We are riding on it for most of this trek.
The National Trails Highway largely follows the old Santa Fe Trail which was pioneered in 1821.
From 1821 to 1880 it served as a major trade route.
During the Mexican-American War it was utilized by US Troops for the invasion of what would become parts of New Mexico and Arizona.
The Comanche Tribe demanded the White Man pay a tribute for crossing their land.
White Man said "No" and shot Comanche.
In fact, the thinning out of Comanche Braves by this means sadly opened these lands for "settlement."
Some chapters of history need to be painfully remembered.
Typical Scenery: Road, Telephone Poles, Train Tracks.
Not much left of old Newberry Springs. A few houses and this large immovable monument.
(Cool Bike Trailer, eh?)
I believe the "buildings" in the background where a brave attempt at a roadside "rest and eat here" project.
A fundamental problem is that there is no compelling reason (except for Route 66 History Freaks) for an automobile full of thirsty and hungry travelers to travel between Newberry Springs and Ludlow.
Interstate 40 provides a smoother way (as we will soon painfully discover).
Yet another out of business motel on Route 66.
See the small silver trailer to the right in the photo?
That was actually used in the filming of the cult movie "Bagdad Cafe."
Speaking of the Bagdad Cafe, here it is. Sort of. The Cafe is actually near Newberry Springs.
But the movie was shot here. After the movie shooting, the owners changed the name of the place to "Bagdad Cafe."
You can still eat there today.
I told you so.
There's that guy again, always standing around with his bike.
Meet Christian.
His grandma owns the Bagdad Cafe.
He says the movie is "ok."
Yet another you know what.
Notice the vintage pumps.
I'm surprised some of these buildings are not more vandalized than they already are.
Perhaps several US Marines are retired around here.
Brother Mark dotting the landscape.
Didn't take long for evidence of the rainy season to vanish.
No. You haven't seen this photo before. Remember, they all look alike.
But no. Look closer. See how the road surface changes colour.
Colour change equals texture change.
Radical change.
Soon to bust my butt and rattle my teeth for the next 20 miles (32 km) change.
This is the worst stretch of Route 66 we have yet to encounter.
Large cracks and deeps ruts. Yuck.
Radically deteriorating highway.
(After coming home, I read on the Internet that this stretch of Route 66 road is called "The Car Eater."
It is now also know to some as the Bike Devourer.)
A simple abandoned "cottage" in the Desert.
All that's left of a motel.
The motel once sat here.
I get the impression these folks wanted to be left alone.
Flowers growing out of the Ancient Lava Flow.
A Tourist.
The last volcanic eruption around here was 10,000 years ago.
See that small flat mesa? That's Pisgah Crater.
Not as in a Moon Crater.
But as in the solid remains of the once liquid core of an active volcano hardened and then got covered with dirt and then many many years later all the other stuff has washed away.
Local Art.
A very portable potty.
(A reminder that plastic never dies and it will take over the planet someday.)
Delicate beauty in a hard, harsh environment.
A slightly closer view.
You could drive your car right up to this "crater."
But we were not about to use the rough dirt road with our skinny road bike tires.
Old Route 66 gets a new bridge so it can leap over Interstate 40 near Ludlow.
We have "smooth pavement envy" as we gaze upon this highway.
I get off my bike and kiss the relatively new pavement here.
(It reminds me of those old tennis courts we used to play on in high school.)
I can't decide which I dislike the most -- rough pavement or strong headwinds or skimpy tennis shorts.
The blurb of civilization in the distance is our day's destination -- Ludlow.
A rather typical sight in the Mohave Desert -- Lots of nothing interspersed with bushes.
According to the literature some the colonies of these bushes, named Creosote Bushes, are over 11,500 years old.
No joke. Amazing how a plant could live so long with so little in such an environment.
Desert Tortoises live here. They are an endangered species now.
Unfortunately, I probably helped endanger them.
On several different road trips across this desert when I was a kid going to and from Texas (to visit and annoy my relatives), my Dad actually stopped the car (several times) and I "rescued" a number of these Tortoises (Torti?) from the unpleasant end game of road kill.
As an act of mercy, they were put in a bucket by my feet on the floor board in the back seat.
When we got home to Anaheim, California, I would turn them loose in the backyard.
They adapted quickly to the lush and glamorous Southern California lifestyle.
We rarely saw them except them they came out of hiding at pool parties to each hamburger and watermelon with us.
Unfortunately several of them met their Maker after crawling into the gas fired water heater for our pool ("Cement Pond"), only to become BBQ treats.
We would find their empty shells in the heating unit occasionally.
Road runners also live among these bushes.
We saw one during our ride.
Our home away from home on Sunday night.
Day One Survivor.
Another Day One Survivor.
We dump our stuff in our room and shower off.
Then it is off to Dairy Queen for carb re-loading.
(A glorious thing about these treks is that I can eat all I want because I am burning over 4,000 calories every day. But it is very important that I remember to stop doing that after I get back home!)
Ludlow is essentially a DQ, Chevron Gas Station, and a motel seeking to service the Interstate 40 travelers flying by a extreme speeds.
And several abandoned buildings.
Today we rode from the highest green marker (Barstow), heading to the right, to the red marker (Ludlow).
A distance of 83.7 km (51.8 miles).
Our average speed was 13.7 kph (8.5 mph).
We were sitting on the bike seats for 6 hours. (I feel it, yes indeed.)
The entire ride, including stops and breaks, took 8 hours and 10 minutes.
We hit the sack happy and tired.
We need to rest well.
Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.
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